Dark Sky
by Mango Tea
Summary: Revamp. Harry Potter was never the Boy Who Lived and Tom Riddle was never Voldemort. They are just two orphaned children who were abandoned by the muggle and magical world. They discover they share a common pain and similar past. With each other, they vow to make the world that forgot them pay...but first Harry must figure out why he's constantly hearing dark voices. Slash. TMR/HP
1. Chapter 1

**_Title: Dark Sky_**

**_Pairing: TMR/HP_**

**_Rating: T (Might change to 'M.')_**

**_Warnings: Dark!Harry, Young!Tom, Major AU, Altered Timeline, Violence, Dark/Depressing content, Language, Slash, probably sexual content later on._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with JK Rowling's world. This is written purely for creative reasons and I make no money off of this._**

**_Author's Note: This story is a revamp and (sort of) combination of two of my previous works in progress: Creature of the Dark and A Far Away Sky (both have been taken down). The two stories did not feel right to me on their own, but I've taken elements that I really want to use from both _****_and created an entirely different plot. The summary is taken directly from A Far Away Sky but the story itself has been changed quite a bit._**

* * *

_He figured that some day the tired stars would become so heavy that they would crash down to the earth in a blaze of fire and destruction. Dreams would turn to dust and ash, carried away by the red hot wind into a far away sky, where they would be born anew._

xxxxxx

Chapter One

The first time he had ever heard his real name was the first time he went to school.

It took him weeks to adjust to being called 'Harry' rather than simply 'Boy' or 'You.' He remembered how frustrated the teachers were because he wouldn't answered whenever they called on him, but what they didn't know was that he had gone all of his life believing he didn't even have a real name.

He'd gone most of his life not believing that even _he_ was real.

It was difficult to determine his existence when everything around him failed to notice him. People came and went, and yet he remained, left behind while the world continued to go round. He could stand in the most crowded of places and most of the time people wouldn't notice him. It was depressing, and yet, he stopped yearning for eye contact with others when he was a young child.

He long ago learned that the world was a soulless and surreal place.

Harry Potter was neither ordinary nor extraordinary. He was simply stuck somewhere in the middle of existence and non-existence. He was a small and skinny boy of almost eleven years, but most believed him to be younger than nine; he remembered some old woman thinking him nine or eight.

He lived his entire life under the care of his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; though the term 'care' was a very loose and vague one, as they were quite determined to believe he wasn't there most of the time. He had no other relatives, he had no friends, he had no place to go, he had nothing. If there was ever one thing he was sure of, it was that he had nothing. (But it wasn't hard to forget such a thing when one was constantly reminded of it.)

As he studied his cousin Dudley from his spot on the stairs, he found that he was glad of having nothing if having everything meant turning out like that. Dudley was a round blob of a boy with an absolutely horrid personality to go with it. He spent most of his days in front of the television, stuffing his face with junk foods and having his mum do everything for him. Even his own friends poked fun at him when he wasn't looking. It was another thing that made Harry glad of having no friends, for having no friends was better than having the type that spoke ill of him when he wasn't looking.

The more he knew of human nature, the more he favored isolation.

"What are you doing?"

His aunt's harsh and shrill voice cut deep through Harry's thoughts and he snapped his eyes up at her. For the past twenty or so minutes, he had just been sitting at the bottom of the stairs, thinking to himself and hopefully staying out of his family's radar for the most part. That hadn't exactly panned out the way he wanted it.

He shrugged his shoulders in response. He had been minding his own business the entire day, so he couldn't see why his aunt would be angry at him. "Nothing."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

Pursing her lips, Aunt Petunia reached out then and grabbed Harry by the arm, dragging him to his feet and releasing him only after she took him to the kitchen. She practically threw him inside and Harry only just managed to keep his balance. His eyes were narrowed into a glare which was directed at the ground as he rubbed at his most likely bruised arm.

"Since you've decided to laze about and do nothing the entire day, you will clean all of the kitchen yourself," she said to him with about as much disgust and dislike as one could cram into a single sentence. She then grabbed a broom and tossed it to Harry before leaving the kitchen.

Harry snatched the broom before it could hit him in the face and glared at the doorway for a few moments afterwards. His aunt had always been like that; treating him with disdain, like whatever was wrong with her life was his fault. It was in his opinion that whatever was wrong with her life was most likely caused by that stick up her arse.

'But I suppose after so many years of it being up there, it would be rather difficult to take out.'

Snickering to himself, Harry began to sweep up, being careful to get under every crevice and into every corner as he did. The last time he had half-arsed the job, he had gotten a good two weeks in his cupboard with barely any meals. His aunt liked her kitchen pristine and spotless, so she always made sure to check his work quite thoroughly. If there was even so much as one spot anywhere, he would be punished. As much as he hated being told what to do, he hated being cramped in his cupboard and starved even more.

Dumping the dust into the rubbish bin, Harry put the broom back and grabbed a scrubber off the counter and filled a bucket with warm water and soap, watching as the sparkling bubbles bloomed up near the top. He got down to his knees and started to scrub furiously at scuff marks and dirt on the tiled floor. As he worked, his mind started to wander off. He found that working went by much quicker if he wasn't actually thinking about the fact that he was working.

'If only I could just run away and leave this place far behind. It's not like anyone would miss me...it's not like anyone would come looking.'

A fiery ache began to well up in his chest when that thought hit him, and though it had dulled over the years, it was still there nonetheless. He wished he could just scream at his aunt and uncle, lash out and make them feel the pain and torment they had put him through for eleven miserable years of his life. But he kept quiet as he was taught to do. The more he thought of it, the harder he began to unconsciously scrub at the floor until a horrible burn began to flare up in his biceps, drawing him back to reality.

Looking down at his hands, he noticed he had a death grip on the scrubber and he slowly released it. His fingers were stiff and throbbing, a red indent in the palm of his hands from where he had been holding it.

'I really need to learn to control my temper,' he thought as he furled and unfurled his fingers to get some feeling back into them. Even his knees were beginning to pain from remaining in this knelt position for so long.

Just as he was about to continue with his work, the bucket of soapy water was suddenly knocked over and its contents went spilling across the floor. Harry's eyes widened somewhat and he lifted his head up in time to see Dudley walk past. The large boy shot a sadistic sort of grin over his shoulder at Harry and then opened up the refrigerator. Bringing his eyes down, Harry saw that the puddle was now getting bigger as it spread across the kitchen slowly.

'Damn it,'he thought as he stared down at the mess.

"What have you done?!" Aunt Petunia screeched at him as she stepped into the kitchen. Harry froze in place and then shut his eyes, taking in a soft breath; he knew he was going to get into trouble for this.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," he said with practiced submission. He knew trying to explain that it was Dudley wouldn't do a thing for him except earn him further punishment for being a 'liar.' His aunt never believed that her Dudley could do anything wrong; Harry couldn't count the amount of times he had heard her refer to the boy as 'her precious Duddykins' or 'her perfect, special baby boy.'

It was enough to make him want to vomit.

He was grabbed by the arm and roughly hauled to his feet. "Go get the mop, you foolish boy, and clean this mess up instantly!" she commanded as she released him and gave him a shove on the back.

Harry's feet slipped on the sudsy floor and his breath stilled in his lungs as he lost balance and fell, landing on his bottom and elbows with a painful thump. He squinted his eyes closed, feeling the cold water now seeping through the fabric of his jeans. He could hear Dudley laughing in the background, and it only served to make Harry's cheeks flare up with anger and embarrassment.

Glancing up, he saw his aunt glaring down at him with her arms crossed over her chest and impatience on her features. He slowly got to his feet, careful not to slip again, and headed to the supply closet to get the mop. He shot Dudley a glare through his bangs as he started to mop up the puddle, but his cousin only continued to grin at him from his place at the table, where he was currently wolfing down a bag of crisps and a bottle of fizzy drink. Harry's stomach couldn't help but give a gargle at the sight of food. He hadn't eaten since the morning, and even that had been a very small helping of cold cereal.

'Don't think of food, it'll only make it worse.'

When he was done, he wrung out the mop in the sink one last time and then put it away. He rubbed at his elbow, which was aching something fierce, and walked out of the kitchen just as his aunt came back in to start cooking dinner. She said nothing to him as he passed by and he was glad for the opportunity to slip out of the house undetected.

He breathed out quietly, feeling his lungs expand when the stifling feeling of the Dursley household began to dimish. It wasn't completely gone, because he was weighed down by the knowledge he would have to go back inside soon enough; but for now, he enjoyed the cool Summer breeze on his skin and the scent of honeysuckle as it lingered heavy on the air.

Sitting on the doorstep, he continued to rub at his elbow and looked up at the sky. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was hanging low in the sky to the west and is if right on cue, the sound of tires crunching against gravel could be heard and Harry watched as Uncle Vernon's car pulled into the drive. The large, heavyset man climbed out of the vehicle and meandered up the walkway, directly past Harry and into the house without a glance his way.

That had been expected.

He listened to Uncle Vernon's voice as he greeted his family and as Aunt Petunia lovingly welcoming her husband back home. None made mention of the fact that Harry wasn't in the house, and certainly they all seemed quite unaware of his absence. He could just barely make out the sounds of the family setting the table and then sitting down for dinner. As hungry as he was, Harry couldn't will himself to go back inside. He wasn't in the mood to deal with being ignored or stared at hatefully, whichever they decided to go for.

The street lamps began to flicker on all around the street as night fell over the quiet neighborhood. There was only the faint rumble of cars in the distance and the occasional bark of a dog to disturb the peace. Harry trained his eyes up towards the sky once again and watched as the stars began to appear one by one. They twinkled against the dark purple expanse of the sky and Harry remembered when he used to wish upon those very stars.

'Fat load of good that did.'

Now, he merely regarded the stars as the hopes and dreams of billions, thrust up into the sky with desperate hands and fated to hover there for eternity with taunting cruelty. Harry had to wonder just how many of those stars belonged to him, because half his child hood had been spent begging the heavens for something, _anything_ to save him from his hell. He long since accepted that the heavens only regarded him with cold pity.

He wrapped his arms around his middle as the air started to become chill, the darkness pressing around him at all sides. Oddly, he did not fear the dark, for only in the dark he felt completely blanketed and sheltered from the cruelty of the world. He thought he could relate with darkness, for it too was overlooked and regarded as something unpleasant and unwanted; something to be waited out until it was gone.

He would have stayed out there the entire night if it weren't for the violent lurch of hunger in his stomach and his cheeks and fingers becoming numb from being out too long.

Standing up, he turned and went back inside. By the sounds of it, dinner was already finished and everyone was seated in the living room. He caught the flicker and glow of the television as he passed by but did not hesitate long, heading straight into the kitchen. The floor shone brilliantly with the recent cleaning and the scent of roast beef lingered tantalizing in the air.

Going over to the counter, he began to pick at the left overs, shoving an entire roll into his mouth in one go. He chewed it up as he filled a plate with potatoes, vegetables and beef and then sat at the table. He practically wolfed down his meal, not wanting to chance his relatives catching him and deciding he had taken too much or something like that. This was the first time he had truly gotten a full plate of food in a long time.

When he was done, he quietly put the plate in the sink and slipped out of the kitchen. He went to his cupboard and closed the door behind him, climbing on his small, uncomfortable bed and stretching out as much as he could. Even though he was very small for his age, that didn't mean he had enough room in there by a long shot. He usually had to sleep with his legs curled up towards his abdomen because otherwise his feet would touch the wall. Still, he made the best of what he had.

_"You look tired."_

Harry stared up at the ceiling as a soft voice whispered in his ear. It was deep, smooth and sounded like it was breathed from the air itself; it was not quite human. If there was one thing Harry would regard as truly strange about himself, it was that he often heard voices. Not always, and usually only in the dark and quiet, but they were as distinct and as real as any voice he had ever heard. If not more so.

He was never very sure where they'd come from, and sometimes he figured he was just going mad (and that wasn't something to be entirely overlooked), but the voices were essentially his only source of companionship, and so he grew accustomed to their presence, even longing for them at times. They had a knack for voicing his deepest thoughts and emotions, and even providing comfort when he needed it the most.

"My aunt made me clean the whole kitchen," Harry answered quietly. He always made sure not to talk too loudly, lest his aunt or uncle hear and punish him for some reason or another. The last thing he needed was for them to think him crazy and actually kick him out.

_"You should have beat that bitch to death with that mop."_

Harry frowned slightly at that, and he rolled over onto his side, hugging at his pillow and resting his chin on it. Even though the idea was a very violent one, he was a bit disturbed by his own lack of emotion on the matter. He found that if his aunt or uncle were to die, he probably wouldn't care all that much. He never considered himself a very violent person, but he couldn't deny those kinds of thoughts. Sometimes they made the abuse that much more bearable.

"I don't think that would do me any good."

_"Suit yourself."_

The voice became silent, though Harry could still sense a presence in the cupboard with him. He turned his eyes upwards when dust started to fall from the ceiling and he heard several heavy sets of feet treading up the stairs. The Durlseys were likely heading to bed for the night and that left his surroundings even quieter than before. Bringing his gaze back down, he watched the shadows dance against the dark wall for a few minutes, trying to imagine shapes out of them and occasionally they would morph into something that looked like a cat, or a dog, or a bird.

He smiled at that.

'I guess I have a pretty good imagination,' he thought before closing his eyes.

Both his brain and body were heavy with fatigue, but somehow sleep did not overtake him immediately. He just remained on his side, still and quiet, his blanket drawn up to his chin as he to obtain warmth from the thin, ragged cloth. An empty sort of ache was forming in his stomach and it occasionally clenched whenever he thought too hard about his situation. Even after hours of lying there like that, he did not fall asleep.

Instead, he spent a good portion of the night with his eyes closed and pretending he was anywhere but there.

* * *

Author's Note: Finally feel like I got a solid story planned out. I just didn't know where to go with Creature of the Dark and I _really _hated how A Far Away Sky was turning out. Also, how many of you would prefer this to be an 'M' rated story? I'm just asking because I don't want my readers to suddenly become uncomfortable if very violent or sexual situations turn up in the story.

For future ref:

"Talking."

'Thinking.'

_"The voices."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Harry was nine years old when the voices started talking to him._

_He sat alone in the far corner of the school during free period, as he did most days, watching the other children play with each other. He was generally excluded from the games due to Dudley threatening to beat up anyone that attempted to befriend him. There had been a few brave enough to try anyway, but Dudley had been as bad as his word and after that, no one ever tried again._

_As time passed, rumor spread that there was something wrong with Harry: maybe he was diseased or mentally ill or dangerous. Because of that, children not only avoided playing with him, they avoided sitting next to him or eating with him during snacks and lunch period. Even the teachers regarded him with a certain level of scorn, though they tried to hide it at least._

_Their laughter echoed across the grounds, reaching his remote corner and reminding him of just how alone he was. He ached for just one smile, or one kind word directed towards him, but such things never came. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face against them. He listened to the sounds of his breathing and focused only on the small, dark world he created for himself. The more he distanced himself from everyone else, the more he felt protected from their cruelty_

_He had no choice but to accept that he was hated by everyone._

"I don't hate you."

_Harry's head snapped up when someone spoke to him. The voice sounded incredibly close, but as his eyes scanned his surroundings, he didn't see anyone near him. He was still very much alone in his little corner of the grounds. He blinked a few times and pressed his lips into a frown. As real as it had sounded, perhaps he just imagined it?_

"You're not imagining it."

_Again, he could have sworn whoever was speaking was standing right next to him. His heart thudded in his chest with a mixture of fear and excitement. He couldn't quite pinpoint the source of the voice, nor could he understand why it was talking to him in the first place, but he did know that he very much liked the way it sounded. It was calming and soothing and told him the things he always longed to hear._

_"Who are you?" he asked of it._

"I am you."

_"Me?" Harry's eyes narrowed a bit in confused concentration. "But how can you be? I'm me!"_

"I just am."

_"I'm going completely mad, aren't I?"_

"Possibly. Is that a bad thing?"

_Harry bit his lower lip at that question, worrying it slightly between his teeth. He really didn't know what to answer to that, for he wasn't even sure if he was talking to anyone in the first place. That would just be the kind of joke the universe would play on him, wouldn't it? Making him talk to something that wasn't even real._

_"Look! Potter's talking to himself!"_

_Bringing his head up, Harry saw several boys from his class standing around him. He recognized them as Malcolm, Andrew, David, and Randall. Most of them were taller and bigger than him, and they were all currently laughing at him. Averting his eyes, Harry glared at the ground and curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans. He was doing his best not to either lash out or run away. He didn't want to give anyone a reason to bother him even more._

_"Leave me alone," he said in a hoarse whisper. For the most part, he could usually go undetected throughout the school day, but he supposed he had attracted too much attention by talking to that voice. He hadn't realized just how loudly he had been talking, either._

_"Why? So you can talk to your 'friend' some more?" Malcolm replied, causing the other boys to roar with laughter again. "Potter has to make up friends just to have someone to talk to!"_

_Harry felt his cheeks flare up a bit with anger and an uncomfortably hot knot began to form in his chest. Even after taking a few calming breaths to himself, he could not swallow down the anger. "Even if I did have imaginary friends, they'd still be smarter than you lot!"_

_This caused the other boys to stop laughing and their amusement quickly turned into rage. Harry was grabbed by the collar of his uniform and yanked to his feet by David, who held his arms down so he couldn't get away. Despite the fear that was welling up in his stomach, he did his best not to show any of that on his face. He knew that it only added to whatever sick joy the others got from tormenting and beating him up._

_"Take that back!" Malcolm said, curling his fist threateningly._

_"Sorry, I don't take back the truth," Harry retorted more bravely than he felt. _

_That was the last word Harry got in before his breath was knocked from his lungs when he got punched in the stomach. He tried to double over, but David kept a firm hold on his arms. He squeezed his eyes closed when another fist slammed into his stomach, making him wheeze and cry out with pain. The hands holding him released him and he fell to his knees, wrapping an arm around his midsection and holding it as he coughed._

_A string of saliva dripped from his bottom lip as he panted, one eye squinted shut as he looked up at the others still towering above him. Apparently they had stopped because the bell rang, signifying the end of break. _

_"You got lucky, Potter. We'll finish this later," Malcolm said, spitting at the ground Harry was knelt on before walking away with his group._

_Harry remained on the ground, his stomach sore and tense, most likely bruised. He wanted to cry, but held back the urge to; his pride had already been damaged by the beating he had received, he didn't want to make it worse on himself by breaking down. _

"Get up. It'll be alright," _the voice said to him._

_"Yeah? What makes you say that?" he gasped out as he pushed himself to his feet. He swayed a little bit, having trouble standing completely straight and tidied up his uniform, which was slightly dirtied from being dropped to the ground as he had been. He did his best to get it all off because he didn't want any teachers questioning why he was so dirty (and possibly getting in trouble for it too.)_

"Because you know it, too."

_Despite everything, as he started heading back towards class, Harry believed it._

xxxxx

Chapter Two

The sun peaked through the pearly white clouds in streams of pale, yellow light, which fell down to the earth and bathed Harry in warmth. He was knelt in Aunt Petunia's garden, the soil slightly dampening the knees of his jeans as he yanked weed after weed from the ground. He had already been out there for hours. His back ached, his hands were cramped and sore and his forehead was dripping with sweat.

He could hear the sounds of chinking glass from through the opened window, causing him to glance up briefly. Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley were all just sitting down to tea as Harry toiled non-stop just outside; it was very likely they had forgotten that he was even out there. Sitting back on his haunches, he wiped his forehead with his arm and panted quietly. The sun would have been unbearable if it weren't for the pleasant breeze that picked up, which felt wonderful against the boy's flushed cheeks. It was a hot day and not exactly ideal for doing any sort of labor.

'Still better than being inside with _them,_' he thought as he tipped his head back and looked up at the sky.

There was a bird, nothing more than a black speck in the distance, yet as he watched it soar up high and disappear into the brilliant yellow sun, he couldn't help but ache with jealousy. It was up there and free while he was down here and trapped.

_"__Little bird, stuck in a cage and forbidden to take flight."_

When the voice whispered in his ear, he looked back down, somewhat dejected by the thought. The voice was neither taunting nor comforting, but he felt a twist in his stomach at those words nonetheless. They were truthful and blunt and he desperately hated that.

"Not like I can change that," he replied, digging his fingers into the grass and plucking a few blades out absently. He threw them aside and leaned back over, now spreading soil over his aunt's flower bed.

_"Can't you?"_

It was Harry's turn to fall silent, contemplating those words as he worked, eventually deciding it was just a fool's hope. Throwing his gloves off, he stood up and walked back towards the house. He slipped his shoes off before entering the door, his bare feet padding quietly on the floor as he headed upstairs. He paused halfway up, looking down at his relatives as they sat around the sitting room, chatting and eating.

_"You don't belong here."_

Harry glanced in the direction the voice was coming from. "You think I don't already know that?"

_"Just saying."_

When he reached the top of the stairs, he headed towards the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He sighed at the quiet solitude and looked down at his hands. They were covered in dirt and when he stood in front of the mirror, he saw that his face and over-sized clothes were in the same state. Turning on the faucet, he stuck his hands under the cool stream of water and scrubbed his hands and splashed his face, the water turning brown as it swirled down the drain.

Looking back up at the mirror, he was met with his own pitiful reflection. He was so short that he had to stand on his tip-toes and lean against the sink to get just tall enough to see into the mirror. Bright green eyes stared back at him with dark bitterness. They were set in a thin face which was tanned from many days spent working out in the garden. His black, wayward hair stuck up in so many directions it was hard to tell which way it actually intended to go. No amount of combing, brushing or washing could tame it.

'No wonder no one likes me. I look homeless.'

He stood there for awhile longer, gripping at the edges of the sink and watching as the droplets of water fell one by one from his bangs. He wanted to prolong this privacy from his relatives for as long as possible, even if it meant hanging about in the bathroom. Sometimes it was difficult for him to open the door and bring himself back into that atmosphere of hatred and loneliness. It always hung so vivid and heavy.

It was inevitable, though.

When he left and reached the bottom of the stairs, he cleared his throat softly. "I'm done with the garden," he announced.

His aunt and uncle both looked back at him. Oddly, it was his aunt that made him the most nervous; she always had this look on her face - like just seeing Harry brought back a plethora of unpleasant memories and she was just itching to make him suffer for it. He was also alone with her a lot more often than he was with Uncle Vernon and she liked to give him the worst chores she could think of. On the other hand, his uncle's job just seemed to be threatening him and handing out punishments whenever he could.

"Are you, then?" Aunt Petunia said with an ugly scowl on her face. "There is some lunch for you in the kitchen. Eat it and then go."

They turned away from him at that point and went back to quite happily pretending he didn't exist.

The lunch turned out to be a cold pea soup and a glass of water. Even though it did not look very appetizing, Harry ate it down as quickly as he could, the soup sitting heavily in his stomach and only making him more hungry than he was before he ate it. He spent a few minutes staring down at his empty bowl and when he decided that it was, indeed, not going to refill itself, he slipped out the kitchen door and into the backyard. He didn't dare tread back through the living room lest the Dursleys remember something they forgot to make him do.

Once he was outside, he went through the gate and onto the streets. His hands slipped into the pockets of his trousers and he slowly meandered through the neighborhood, occasionally kicking at a rock that was on the ground. Glancing around, he noted the other people that were outside; there was a man washing his car, the sound of rushing water a reprieve from the hot Summer sun, and there were several children bicycling or roller skating. He simply walked past all of that, leaving their voices and laughter in the distance until he was accompanied by only the quiet.

'I wonder what it would be like to have friends.'

_"It would cause too many problems." _

"Why do you say that?"

_"Seems like friendship can be a hassle."_

"I don't know. I guess you're right."

"Hey, get off my grass, you ruffian!"_  
_

Harry jumped at the yelling, nearly mistaking it for one of his voices. He whipped around and saw an old woman standing on her door step, waving at him with her hands and an angry expression on her wrinkled face. He blinked and then looked down, now realizing that he had started walking on someone's front lawn. Rolling his eyes, he stepped off the grass and onto the side walk.

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," he muttered under his breath. Perhaps he had been wrong before - he didn't always go unnoticed. Rather, people seemed quite apt at noticing him when he was doing something wrong. That really just seemed to be his sort of luck.

By now, he made his way into a field, jumping over a brick wall that blocked it off from the neighborhood. When his feet hit the ground, the grass rustled under his feet and around his ankles, each swaying blade glittering underneath the sunlight, rippling through the field like an ocean of earthly stars.

Harry laid back in the grass, feeling the tips tickle and prick at the exposed skin of his arms and neck as he looked up at the sky. It stretched above him in a canvas of deep blue, splattered with wispy, swirling clouds as all of it seemingly threatened to swallow him whole with its vastness. If he ever felt small before, it was only amplified in moments like these, when he could truly appreciate just how big the world was.

After awhile, his eyelashes started to flutter until they were closed, his mind drifting off into a very light slumber. Moments or hours could have passed before he was awoken with a loud cracking sound, which jolted him awake with a start. Sitting up bolt-right, he looked around with his heart hammering against his chest. He took in a deep breath to calm his nerves and slowly stood to his feet.

'What in the hell was that sound?'

It was then that he noticed there was a tall figure standing in the field with him. It stood in stark contrast against the backdrop, dressed in long, black garb that billowed with the breeze and a hood drawn up over its head. Sure that this person hadn't been here before, and feeling curious, Harry started to walk towards them, keeping himself on guard.

When he got close, the person removed their hood. A head of short, dark blonde hair and a pair of deep, brown eyes became visible. He was looking down at Harry with kindness shining in his eyes. It nearly took him off guard because he was not used to being looked at like that. It was foreign and almost frightening.

"Hello, Harry," he said, causing said boy's eyes to widen in surprise. He hadn't expected the man to speak to him, let alone say his name._  
_

"How do you know my name?" he asked of him, now rather suspicion of this stranger. It wasn't every day that someone came up to him and greeted him as if they had always known each other.

"Because I've been sent to give you this," came the reply, and Harry now noticed that he spoke with a light Scottish accent. The man reached into his robes and Harry took a step back in trepidation, watching him warily. When he withdrew his hand, it came with a large, yellow envelope, of which he held out to the boy. Harry did not take it right away, instead just staring at it and arching a brow.

"What is that?" he questioned, unsure. "And who are you?"

This only seemed to make the man's eyes sparkle with amusement. "My name is Christian Thaxton and this is a letter addressed to you."

Never in his life had Harry received a letter from anyone, and certainly not in this manner. This Thaxton fellow certainly didn't look like a mail man. "Don't letters normally come in the post?"

"Well, we tried it that way, but it seems you haven't been getting your letters, so I've been sent to deliver it personally," Thaxton replied with a smile, still holding out the envelope for Harry to take.

This had Harry even more curious; if there had been letters for him in the mail, then why hadn't they been given to him? The only explanation he could think of was that someone had been keeping them from him.

'Seems like the kind of thing Aunt and Uncle would do to make me miserable.'

His hand was trembling slightly as he reached out and took the letter from Thaxton, holding it in his hands and studying it. The front of the envelope was addressed in emerald green ink and to his surprise, it actually did have his name written on the front of it. (He almost expected it not to be there.) This seemed to spur him on as he eagerly ripped it open and pulled out the paper from inside. Immediately, his eyes began to scan down the parchment, reading it more quickly than he had ever read anything in his life.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards.)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on **1 September**. We await your owl by no later than **31 July.**_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall _

_**Deputy Headmistress**_

The first thing Harry did after reading the letter was blink at it. The next thing he wanted to do was laugh at the absurdity of it. Wizards? Witches? Hogwarts? None of it had a shred of credibility in his mind and he was about ready to crumple up the paper and throw it back at Thaxton for playing such a cruel joke on him. He was certain his aunt and uncle had put him up to it.

"Surely this is a joke," he said, holding up the parchment with a very sour scowl on his face. "Do you think I'm stupid or something?"

Thaxton just laughed, and Harry, thinking he was laughing at him, ripped the letter in half and dropped it to the ground. He was so foolish to believe that anyone would be kind to him, and he was even more foolish to believe that someone would take time to actually write a real letter to him. Feeling shamed, embarrassed, and angry, Harry began to walk away.

"Wait, Harry," Thaxton said before he got too far. When Harry looked over his shoulder, he saw Thaxton pulling something from his robes; a long, glossy stick of wood. Harry's confusion soon turned to shock when the man gave it a wave and the letter he had previously torn, pieced itself back together and then floated to Harry. Thinking he must be imagining things, Harry lifted a hand and allowed the letter to drop back into his grip.

It was as solid as it had been before he tore it.

"But...this can't be possible," he said, feeling numb and dizzy, still hardly daring to believe what he'd just seen.

"It is," Thaxton replied. "You're a wizard, Harry."

This time he really did laugh at the absurdity of it, shaking his head and attempting to hand the letter back to the man. "No, I'm sorry. Even if this was real, you've got the wrong person."

"Do I?" Thaxton asked, appearing very patient with Harry's lack of confidence.

"Yeah, there's no way I can be a...wizard."

Even speaking it, the word felt incredibly bizarre on his tongue.

Thaxton seemed to ponder on that for a few moments and instead of answering, he brought out a paper and a long, grey feather. Harry watched with fascination as he used both to write some sort of note. When he was done, he gave a low whistle and an owl flew down and perched on the tall man's shoulder. In a very unusual and strange act, Thaxton held the missive up to the bird's beak.

"Take this to Dumbledore," he told it. It ruffled its feathers a few times before spreading its wings and taking flight. It disappeared quickly and Harry opened his mouth to ask what that was all about, but Thaxton beat him to it.

"I was just informing the headmaster that you've received your letter. Now, come along," Thaxton said, walking passed the boy. He began taking off his robes and making them vanish right before Harry's eyes. "We have much to do."

"Wait, what things?" Harry called after him, keeping his feet planted firmly where they were, still not sure if he should trust this person or not. "Where are you going?!"

"You'll never know if you don't come," Thaxton replied over his shoulder, still walking at a leisurely pace and giving Harry plenty of opportunity to catch up if he so desired.

Harry bit at the inside of his cheek, still spectacularly confused about what was happening, because it all had happened so fast and his mind had yet to fully wrap around it. He looked back towards the direction the Dursleys household was in, already knowing what was awaiting him there. A life of abuse, loneliness and mediocrity. But what waited for him if he chose to follow Thaxton? An entirely new world, perhaps? Maybe even an entirely new life?

_"What's the worst that could happen?"_

"I could get horribly and brutally murdered," Harry pointed out bluntly.

_"Sounds like a step up from life with the Dursleys."_

Harry laughed and smiled lightly. "You're probably right about that," he replied, still just able to make out Thaxton in the distance.

'Here goes nothing.' Taking in a deep breath, he started to run after him, his feet carrying him far away from the life he wanted to leave behind.

"Wait up!"

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks for all of the feedback :) It's truly appreciated.


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